Giving in
by edka88
Summary: If staying with her Angel means she has to forget her previous life, that's what she'll do. Even if she has to convince herself about it first.


Hello again! First of all, I wish to thank my readers and reviewers for their support, you helped me a lot!

I decided to post this story after a very long debate with myself. I got this idea for about a year ago but the outcome of it changed so many times since then that I'm not sure I can be objective about it anymore. So I leave it to your judgment; all reviews are welcomed.

The story begins during the Masquerade scene. I know it has certain similarity to one of my other stories but since they are in two different universes, I didn't change it.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Giving in**

Enthralling.

For anyone else he was just an apparition, a ghost, the never-seen Phantom but for Christine, he was the mesmerizing Angel of Music. Her angry and demanding Angel of Music.

Could it have been really three months without him? Only now, when she saw him again, did she realize how hollow her life had been without him. If he came only to threaten the managers it was still comforting to feel him near. But how could one's presence feel comforting while she knew all too well that she'd run from him because he murdered someone – she had no idea. She didn't even bother to ask herself.

But beside relief upon seeing him again she felt something else, something painful, a dim pressure somewhere between her heart and stomach… he must have seen and heard her on the roof. There was no question in her mind that she did the right thing when she'd chosen to run from her violent teacher but… she missed her Angel. Being with Raoul was safe, with him she'd have the future she'd dreamt of as a little girl, but suddenly being that little girl was not enough for Christine.

Her Angel drew out his sword and continued to lecture the two seemingly terrified managers but she ceased to comprehend his words, being too engrossed in her thoughts to listen.

He was a murderer.

She knew that before yet the realization hit her mercilessly, and it wasn't fear what she felt when she thought about what he'd done – it was aching disappointment for he wasn't the angel she believed in. Yes, his face scared her when she first saw it but those twisted features weren't the reason why she'd left him. Or rather that wasn't the only reason. Could she be as shallow as to reject him just because of his appearance? She thought that maybe with time she could overlook his face but what about his sins? And was it not transgression as well, wishing she'd forget about his sins to feel this pulling towards him without guilt?

He slowly descended on the huge staircase and she felt some strange emotion suffocating her throat. They weren't tears, what then?

Ten years against three months and a summer long ago…

He stopped only inches from her and air left her lungs momentarily. Now. Now he'd scold her for her disobedience. She waited and waited but nothing happened and finally she ventured to look away from his eyes. The mask he'd chosen to wear that night hid all parts of his face and her eyes darted upon the only visible part of it, his lips; those lips that could make the most beautiful sound on earth…

Christine snapped up her eyes only to see the quickly rising temper in those captivating eyes. The ring… He must have seen the ring…

"Angel…" She breathed hopelessly. "I'm so sorry."

He forced to stop his hand before it could rip the ring from her neck; it was on the same level as her shoulders when it fell to his side limply. No. Not now, not here. Not with so many eyes watching them. For the time being they dared to do nothing, yet he wouldn't risk to be caught because of his heedless actions. It would be easier to steal her away, anyway. He wouldn't let her leave him with that boy after he'd been waiting for her for so long, even if it meant he had to forget his only wish what really mattered him, that she'd come to him willingly.

The small, round object around her neck suddenly felt retracting, keeping her the prisoner of propriety, of expectations but at the same time, it protected her from what it was on the other side, the unknown, dangerous freedom. Christine couldn't decide anymore which decision would be the better.

Was that really a sin to feel this strong connection with him?

He saw how her face turned a little upwards while she took a hesitant step forward, and if he didn't know better he'd have thought she looked like as if she… admired him. She certainly didn't.

"Please forgive me…" She breathed and when he saw the silent plea on her eyes, part of his anger faded into confusion. Why would she beg for his forgiveness unless she didn't want to be with that boy of hers? But if she did love her suitor and was repulsed by _him _as she declared on the roof, why would it matter what he thought? Why would she give even one single thought of his feelings? Or did she just want to calm her conscience upon leaving him? Or to have his approval to her marriage? Was she that naive to think he'd let her leave?

There was the slight possibility that she regretted her decision but that was a ridiculous option to think about, it was enough to remember her words what she described him with to that fool. But… She took another step towards him, her silken dress imperceptibly brushing the back of his hand; did she know that? Was that deliberate? If she took another step she would be _touching_ him… It that state of mind he couldn't accept an accidental brush, he wanted her to touch him purposefully, to know she meant it; bearing her haphazard touch was unacceptable, because that would have meant he had to figure out her intentions.

In the next moment he kissed her on the lips. It wasn't in his mind to do so while preparing his attendance to the masked ball. It was not the right time for it and definitely not the right place, but it happened too quickly to think about it. It was just an awkward brush of his lips against hers, just a clumsy, small touch that the mask allowed but it was a kiss nonetheless. She could have protested, but she didn't. She could have pushed him away, but she didn't. She could have stood there without responding, yet she didn't. No. She returned his timid kiss after her first surprise with eager lips, without the slightest objection in her movements. The second time he was more confident and he dared to be as bold as to cup her face into his wavering hand and she still seemed that she didn't mind that!

They were too lost in the pleasure of that tentative kiss to hear the excited murmur of the guests or the growing sound of boot steps on the marvel floor.

"Get away from her, you fiend!" At Raoul's harsh words Christine's hand fell to her side from where it rested - on her Angel's - and she turned to face Raoul as if she'd been caught on doing something awful. But kissing her Angel wasn't awful at all…

Her fiancée ran towards them with sword in his hand and all _he _could do before Raoul reached them to push Christine away and drew out his sword while with his other hand he tore the heavy red cape from his shoulder.

Nobody moved to stop them. At first Christine thought to run between them but seeing the bitter fight she decided against it. All of this was her fault! Had she been more confident or stronger she'd have chosen between her two suitors earlier or she'd have stuck to her decision and this wouldn't have been happening right now. She leaned heavily on the barrier, feeling dizzy and ill and so, so guilty and powerless…

He cursed his mind for letting him forget about the boy. Of course he was here with her! But he still wouldn't be in such a trouble if he brought his lasso with him. Too bad he didn't. Damn it! He could hardly fend off the boy's first cut but even if his attention was now on his enemy somewhere in the back of his mind he still heard Christine's frightened gasp. Did she fear of him or for him?

The fight was far worse than Christine had first thought. It was about her, for her love and she was sure that the winner would kill the other. They would kill each other just to have her love? She never asked such a price for her heart. And she feared, oh, how she feared that her Angel might not be the stronger. She realized then that she wouldn't bear the thought that she could never speak with her Angel again. Either way she would loose him, either by marrying Raoul or by his death. She refused to think about his death. No, he must live, he will live, with her… Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp cry of pain and her knees buckled when she saw how Raoul's sword cut her Angel's arm. No…

The injury made him fight with inhuman power, cutting and stabbing mercilessly until he managed to force the boy to one of the pillars. With one swift motion he knocked the sword from his hand and in no time his blade was on the boy's throat, ready to end his life for taking away the only meaning of his life by courting Christine, for interrupting their first kiss, the first, freely given intimate touch he'd ever got – when he heard Christine's desperate cry.

"No!" She gasped for air as though she was choking. "Angel, don't!"

He hesitated for a moment after hearing her plea. How simple it would be to end what he started… just one, small movement and it would be over… and then there would be no one to steal Christine away from him. But he had the disturbing suspicion that she'd never forgive him if he did just that. Maybe she could forgive him for taking other's life but she wouldn't forgive him for killing that boy. Slowly, reluctantly he lowered his sword and heard the boy's relieved sigh in return. _How pathetic._

He couldn't stay there anymore. Unfortunately, time and people didn't freeze around him, no matter how hard he wanted that. He marched toward the nearby trapdoor, passing next to Christine; but before he reached it, Christine's voice stopped him.

"Angel, wait!"

Only then did he see that she was running towards him, lifting her skirts as she ascended on the steps.

"I don't want you to leave me again," she wheezed.

He never felt more confused by her quickly changing demeanor. After vanishing for three months the first time she saw him she kissed him, then begged for her fiancée's life, but instead of rushing to him for protection, she decided to follow the Phantom? At the same time these thoughts ran through his mind, the Vicomte was approaching, sword in hand again, Christine's eyes were pleading, he wanted to escape, but she intended to come willingly…

"Come," he said harshly. When she rushed to his side he pulled her closer by the waist, now without hesitation, and she braced herself by gripping his shoulders as if she'd known what would happen.

In the next moment only her ring on the chain signed that she'd ever been there.

-o-

He was running from… he didn't know from what. Probably he wanted to escape her unquestioning trust but he didn't go so far as to admit it to himself; the feeling was not much than a blurred perception. She trusted him… Why?

He was dragging her by the arm along the hidden tunnels beneath the opera house but it seemed she was following him quite willingly, she even tried to match her steps to his.

"Where are we going?" She asked him, her voice wavering from running.

"Back to the house by the lake," he answered her, though first he wanted to say 'my house'.

"But last time we went on another way," she protested when realization began to rise in her.

"There's another entrance. You can't sit in the boat with this dress," he explained shortly and they didn't talk more during the journey to the underground house.

Once inside his home he led her to her room silently and after he grudgingly let go of her hand, asked:

"Do you need something? Are you hungry?"

"No." She eyed him with curiosity.

"Though I consider it as the greatest miracle ever happened to have you here I would still appreciate if you spend the rest of the night in your room."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Good night." He turned and quickly disappeared in a room that she guessed was the kitchen for in his haste he left the door ajar. Through that small gap she saw how he shed his blood-soaked coat on a chair, then she heard something akin a drawer being yanked out, then she heard the sound of running water. For some moments she just followed him with her eyes while he was bustling around; she wanted to enter her room blushingly as she caught a glimpse of him as he began unbuttoning his shirt when she saw him slipping and then leaning on the table for support. She approached him warily.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" She queried timidly while he was still bracing himself on the table.

"Yes," he snapped. "Go to sleep." Oh no, he didn't want her to know that he felt a little giddy from blood loss. But would he be able to tend his wound? He could only hope so.

By then she reached him and she wasn't able to stifle a started gasp when she saw his black shirt's sleeve soaked with blood. For a moment she feared she'd be ill but she immediately fought down that feeling. He definitely needed help and only she was there to help him.

"I could have guessed…" She berated herself, murmuring, and pulled out a chair hurriedly for him.

"There's no need to…" He began but she cut him off, commanding "Sit down."

He did as she asked and muttered a curse under his breath, seeing that the cut was a lot deeper and longer than he expected. And it was only because his mind was foolishly occupied during that fight with trying to figure out why she became so frightened when the boy showed up.

"Will you do as I ask?" He looked up at her; she was dipping a towel in a bowl where she spilled the water. Her hands shook slightly and she gulped before she whispered "Yes," and he nodded.

She knelt beside him and started to clear the blood from his arm, tainting with red the water as she worked.

"Give me that bottle and a dry cloth." He pointed at some strange liquid and she was scared from his distant tone; it was not at all her Angel's beautiful voice she got used to. He poured some of that unknown something on the cloth with great effort but she took it from his hands before he had the chance to wipe the gash with it.

"I'll do it."

He strictly forbade himself to show any sign of being in pain but as she saw how his lips became one thin line she shuddered with sympathy.

"What should I do now?" She was now as pale as he was and she tried with all of her power to control her shaking. As Christine looked at his face she realized he was still wearing the mask of Red Death and saw the sweat on his chin. As the thought entered her mind she felt her heart leapt to her throat; she remembered all too well what was beneath it but…

"Wouldn't it be more comfortable if you took off your mask?" She offered but his abrupt "No" was so surprisingly strong and firm that she dared not to mention it again. Later she scolded herself thoughtfully for feeling even the slightest relief that he kept the mask on.

"Take a needle and some thread," he continued a little more calmly, "and sew it."

First time in that night she felt she couldn't do it, she wouldn't be able to do it. Stabbing a needle into his skin, into his arm which was still bleeding and purposefully hurt him? And… and she never before had to treat another's injury.

"I can't do it… I've never done something like it before," she breathed weakly through the lump in her throat.

_But then why are you here?_

"Can you sew?" He asked, barely able to keep his eyes open. "A tear on a dress? Can you?"

"Yes." By then, her answer was almost inaudible, especially for his tired senses.

"It works in the same way." He assured her; or rather he took an attempt to assure her.

"I don't want to cause you more pain," she managed to choke a moment later.

"Don't care about that. Just be done with it," he snapped at last grumpily and saw how she finally obeyed him, turning slightly to take a needle between her fingers.

She forced herself to move her arms and swallowed her thoughts before she began her task. When the sound of his gasp reached her ears she abruptly wanted to apologize but for fear that her words would end up in tears she remained silent. She worked, never uttering a word and he dared not to speak, either, afraid that his voice would be laced with pain. He didn't want her to know about his suffering, it was his fault anyway. He must have been on his guard instead of thinking about how soft her lips felt. Her lips now were quivering and she never once looked up until the moment she finished closing his wound. He handed her the bottle again, finding that he was too tired to speak and she cleared the stitches without asking.

"What now?" She whispered.

"The gauze is in the drawer," he rasped at her soft question.

Stepping closer to the counter she took a good amount of the gauze and bandaged his injury with much precaution.

"I'm done." She stood up and took the bowl with her. She still dared not to glance into his eyes.

He followed her with his eyes as she was clearing up the blood and put away the necessities. She was careful not to face him during her ministrations though she should have known he saw her shaking shoulders while washing her hands.

"Christine…"

She approached him without saying a word.

"If you changed your mind I… I'll tell you how to find your way out."

"No. I don't want to leave."

"Why have you been crying?"

"I haven't," she stated as firm as she could.

He sighed. "You're lying."

"Yes."

"Why?"

She didn't answer him.

"Do you need something? I'll help you to go to bed," she suggested instead a moment later.

"No. I'll be fine." _And I don't want you to see how ungraceful it is when the Phantom stumbles to his room._

"I'm going to sleep then," she said a minute later; his soft call made her face him again, though.

"Christine."

"Yes?"

"Thank you… for allowing me to kiss you."

"It was my pleasure," she whispered almost inaudibly before disappearing in the safety of her room and only after the door clicked shut did she dissolve in relieved tears.

-o-

She woke tiredly on the following morning and it took her a moment to recall where exactly she was. The exhaustion from last night still clung to her limbs and she almost gave in the temptation to sleep a little longer when the memory hit her that what a state she left her Angel in last night and she quickly began to prepare herself for the day. Her dress, from which she had to wash out the blood - his blood - she find that during the night dried almost inexplicably so she put it on hastily. She readied herself with such ferocity that she had to force herself to calm before she reached for the handle, then stepped into the living room.

He was sitting at his organ - which was a good thing after all, after the images her mind tormented her with - but unlike last time she saw him like this now he seemed simply musing instead of composing. The memory of her first morning with him returned with vivid images, and though there was no need for further affirmation, she still vowed to herself that she wouldn't take off his mask again – not at least without his consent. The idea of seeing his bare face again made a chill run down her spine but her fear faded a little every time she thought about his features.

"Good morning," she greeted him and took in with relief as he slowly turned on the bench – it seemed he felt better at least.

"Good morning," he echoed her words as if he wasn't sure how to answer such a comment.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes." He stood. "I've brought you some breakfast," and with that, he led her to the kitchen. Christine was only slightly surprised when he didn't join her in her meal, instead he sat down awkwardly in front of her and silently waited until she finished.

"They are looking for you all around in the building." He said finally.

"I assumed they would do so. But will they be able to find me?"

He didn't look up from the table as he said: "No, if I don't want to."

Swallowing nervously, she asked: "And what is that you want?"

"You know that pretty well," he snapped without lifting his eyes to look at her, wishing she'd leave it at that before he had to admit his love for her again. It was enough to see her faint once.

"I'm not sure I know what you want," she protested diffidently but he cut her off rudely.

"What do I want? What do _you_ want?" He turned the question against her, feeling how temper rose in him until he had to stand up. "What do you want? Because I don't know anymore! Three months ago you run from me with horror then last night you suddenly decided to come with me. Tell me what all of this mean!" By the end he was towering over her and she felt the insurmountable urge to stand up as well.

"You didn't come to me in three months and now you are the one who's demanding answers?" Well, her indignation wasn't really justified since she suspected he heard her on the rooftop but she wanted to apologize for that. But now, she was just too proud to give up.

"I highly doubted you wanted to see me after what you've said." Here it was. The proof that he heard her indeed. She kept being silent.

"Yes, I heard you on the roof. Didn't you know I'd hear you anywhere?"

"You claim to find me anywhere yet you didn't show up for three months. So if you really did know where I was you could have known as well how badly I wanted to apologize for what I've said."

"I gave up following you everywhere from the moment you ran into the arms of that boy." He took some steps towards her but she refused to feel frightened and stood straight.

"And why do you think? Because you scared me beyond anything! He was there to keep me safe, to console me."

"You don't need to remind me what effect my face has on people."

"You know as well as I do that it was never your face what I was so afraid of. It was you, your rage, directed upon me what scared me."

"On the roof you spoke quite differently."

"Because you frightened me, you frightened everybody by killing Buquet." At the end she practically shouted and for a moment she really feared for her life. But nothing happened.

"You didn't seem frightened yesterday," he said softly.

"No. I had three months to realize you'd never hurt me." Her voice was now matching his, no sign of her earlier anger. "And in that three months I missed you terribly."

"Oh yes, you missed me so you let him woo you!" The last few words came out as a yelling and fear's cold wave run down her spine.

"I don't love him if that's what you're so afraid of," she stated as calmly as she could.

"Of course you don't, you just wore his ring!"

"Around my neck!"

"It doesn't matter!"

"Well, it does for me. If I wanted to marry him I'd have worn it on my finger!"

"You accepted his proposal!"

"Because you were to be found nowhere!" Christine cried out fretfully at last but as soon as the words left her lips, her hand flew to her mouth. She didn't mean to say that. She didn't even know she thought that. Fearing what she would see in his eyes she glanced at him, but instead of finding him offended or enraged, she saw that he was dumbfounded. Only now did she feel how tired she became from shouting at him all the while. Air came into her lungs with small gasps and no matter how she tried to stop it, her limbs were shaking violently.

It seemed he didn't take a breath for moments. In fact, he didn't, first he had to remind himself to do so. Could this be the reason beyond all of her affection last night? Was this why she kissed him? Why she came with him, why she took care of him?

"You begged for his life," was all he said finally.

"Don't you think I'd have done the same if it was your life?"

Silence.

"I care for him for he was nothing but kind to me. It doesn't mean I want him dead just because I don't love him as a woman should love a man."

She said she'd beg for _his _life as well but she couldn't say about him that he was nothing but kind to her. Did she care about _him_ or not, then?

"Do you know how afraid I've been for _your_ life?" She continued, trying in vain to conceal her tears. "Last night I dared not to show you the true extent of it."

"You make it seem as if you care for me and him equally."

She shook her head miserably then lowered her face, trying to hide the two rolling teardrops on her face and she stood with her head downcast, forcing back her breath before it could escape with a forceful sob. As he approached her trembling frame he hesitated for a minute before he gained enough courage to place his fingers under her chin and lifted her head to look into her eyes.

"Don't cry…" He breathed and that restrained sob left her lungs with such power that she couldn't find it in herself to stop her crying any longer.

"I've been so worried… You've been fighting for me… It would have been my fault if…" She sniffled. "I'm not that strong as you are."

_If only you knew, _he thought. He was still too terrified to ask her 'the' question though she practically said yes five minutes ago.

"Why did you come with me?" He asked suddenly instead of the question what he wanted to know the answer the most.

"I didn't know how long it would take you to show up again. I couldn't risk the chance not seeing you again for so long."

"Don't mock me! You didn't want to see me after you've seen my hideous face." He dropped his hand from her face and took a step back.

"I don't mock you. When I said I wanted to be with you, I meant it."

"As long as you don't have to look at me."

"That's not true!"

"Don't lie to me! I've heard you."

She felt trapped. If she said the truth, that she still felt some of that uneasy feeling that she felt at the first time seeing his face, he'd never forgive her. However, if she tried to lie, he'd know it in the moment the words left her lips.

"That was back then…" she began reluctantly. "Now I know…" The rest of the sentence 'what to expect', was swallowed before it could leave her traitorous mouth.

"Yes, you know," he said sulkily and wanted to leave but she caught his sleeve with strong fingers.

"I won't… do that again. Not if you don't allow me to."

"Of course not, since you loathe the very though to look at my face!"

"No, I don't. Stop stating that I must be repulsed by you!"

"Would you say the same if I didn't have the mask on?"

"Yes!" She cried firmly and determinedly though she wasn't half as sure in herself as she made it seem. Only a moment earlier she said she didn't fear of him and she meant it. But she wasn't sure she was strong enough to look at his bare face without flinching, no matter she kept saying herself that she was.

Anxious and angry, he was debating with himself whether to give in the temptation to test her determination or to deny her; it was not an easy decision to make. If he gave in, he might loose her again, either that she'd cower away from him or she tried to run to her lover, but if he didn't, he'd never know. And how he wanted to know! Last night he felt so close to get what he wanted, her freely given affection, her love maybe…

Watching every change in her expression, he slowly uncovered his face. He wasn't unaware how her hand clutched at his arm just a little stronger, but otherwise, her countenance didn't change. She didn't gasp, she didn't look away, she didn't scream, nothing. But her fingers pressed his arm adamantly.

It was unexpected, to say the very least. She didn't thought he'd take off the mask out of sheer curiosity, but she did her best not to wince when he did. Looking at his missing cheek, his torn face was still horrible but she felt some kind of relief. In her mind she combined his face with his raging and the result of it was a lot worse picture of his image than it was in reality. Yet she kept reassuring herself that it was just a normal face she was looking at, even if it was far from the truth. About one thing, though, she managed to convince herself: that was a man before her eyes, a man, who wasn't only a repulsive face; that he had soul, feelings that she herself had, that any other person she knew had. Maybe with time she could get used to it. Maybe she wouldn't even notice anymore how 'different' his face was. She wanted to get used to it. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought and she hoped he didn't see her frantic thoughts in her eyes.

"Would you say the same again?" He demanded harshly while fighting with all of his willpower not to look away from her eyes.

"Yes. I'm not afraid."

"No, you're not. But you're still disgusted by it."

"No! Will you always questioning me?" She realized it too late what she suggested but it didn't matter. She'd already said something similar earlier.

He lifted his hand to cover his face but then he chose to run his fingers through his thin hair instead.

"And you wanted to marry me, contrary to what you've seen? That you've tried to flee from me?"

"Yes," she whispered, than blushed on her own, previous naivety. "I'd have said yes when I only knew you as a voice." If she felt foolish yesterday for running from her Angel, now she felt just insane. Who wants to marry a voice, an angel, really?

"But now, when you saw me? When you know who I am?" He pushed, his voice slowly loosing the little patience he had.

"I don't know who you are," she said softly. "I see you but I don't know you anymore. All the things you've said… I don't know which part of it was a lie and which not. Three months ago it seemed that everything was just as a lie that you're… an angel," she finished, completely embarrassed that she believed in that lie for ten years.

"Everything I've said was true… except that I'm not an angel, obviously," he admitted, all the while trying to suppress the urge to cover his face.

"I… Who you are, then?" She queried nervously and he contemplated his answer for a moment before he spoke again.

"I'm Erik."

He never felt this before. He felt hope fading with her every sentence in which she didn't answer his question right away whether she'd consent to marry him or not. It must have been the cruelest punishment for him: she neither said yes nor no.

"Will you ever give me an answer? Even if it's no?" Though his voice was low and even she still heard the restrained emotions in it.

And what would be her answer? She barely knew him, only now did she get known his name. What did she know about him? That he was the infamous Phantom who made her believe that he was the Angel of Music. He lied to her for ten years… but in those ten years he had been always there when she needed someone to talk to. How many times did she pray he'd be real, that he'd console her by taking her into his arms… Now he was right before her eyes. Five minutes ago she thought about their future together… she wanted that future! Even if he wasn't the Angel of Music she still felt as if she knew him. He could have pretended for ten years that he's some ethereal creature but all of his affections, his love - oh, she knew now that he loved her -, he couldn't.

"Yes. My answer is yes. I'll marry you, Erik."

Relief washed over him at her words and on its wake, tears. He fell to his knees at her feet and folded his arms around her waist, pressing his face to the front of her dress and wetting her gown with his tears.

She said yes! Yes! To him! He kept muttering into the fabric until she slowly lowered herself to the floor and awkwardly pulled him into her arms. Seeing him this undone made her eyes water, too, but she scolded herself for she still dared not to touch his face though she saw how badly he wanted to cover it. She wanted him to trust her, she wanted to convince him - and herself as well - that she wasn't repulsed by him anymore. She timidly entwined her fingers with his hair.

"I love you so much," he breathed in awe into her neck and he felt himself lighter as those words left his lips. So many times before he had to stifle those very words, but now he felt it was allowed to reveal them to her.

"I know," she responded and softly slid her hand from his thin hair closer to his face, then took a deep breath before she continued. "I love you, too."

In the following silent minutes he tried to convince himself that she really said what he had heard while she built up enough courage to move her hand gingerly to his ruined face. His skin was warm and soft; yes, his face was distorted, yet it was so – alive, she never imagined. Feeling her cheeks burning she leaned forward and gave a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth but feeling his breath on her face encouraged her further until her lips were fully touching his; she found that it felt much better to kiss him without his mask on, even if she saw what was beneath it, even if she touched what was beneath it.

When his arms encircled her waist again she couldn't really think about that any longer that those were horrible scars what she was caressing so dearly.


End file.
